


Salt for Salt

by Nokomis



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa goes to Bartertown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt for Salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yahtzee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/gifts).



  
It’s easy to tell the mothers that they don’t have to give milk anymore.

It’s less easy when the warboys start dying of their poisoned bones and brittle lungs.

“Water’s not enough for them,” Battery Jane of the Many Mothers says after another half-dozen succumb to Valhalla. “They’re dependant on blood and milk, and without it…”

Toast is willing to let them hang, and Capable spends her time with the dying, filling their final moments with sweet words and soft smiles. 

Furiosa sees dwindling numbers, sees dwindling _strength_ , and knows how dependant the Citadel is on its numbers. The pulleys can’t be managed by the weak and dying, and every death means another boy is worked harder, and in turn loses strength.

“Allow the boys a half-cup more each,” Furiosa says, knowing it’s not enough. Knowing the reserves are dwindling, that the mothers who are giving milk are doing so less frequently.

Knowing that she’s always a command away from becoming another Immortan Joe. 

 

*

“We have to help them,” Cheedo says over dinner. Their plates are full; tonight they’re celebrating. It’s been three days since the Dag has survived the birthing bed, and the baby girl is whole and healthy. “The War Boys. It’s not right, that we get free and they pay the price.”

“Someone’s always got to pay the price,” the Dag says. Motherhood has not dimmed her fire but ignited it further. Furiosa knows the child will be protected fiercely, no matter what her father was. “It’s how the world is, Cheedo. I’ve told you.”

Capable is cradling the baby, watching its tiny fingers grasp her own. The Dag has refused to name her, insisting that the child can choose her own damn name, and be her own person. “But it shouldn’t.”

Her voice is steady, but only just barely. 

“I’ll find a way,” Furiosa says. The food is hot and delicious, and she takes another bite. 

“But how?” Toast pushes her plate away. “We’re strapped. It takes everything we’ve got to keep guzzoline coming and bullets stocked, and the raiders’ll come by quick as you like if they catch on that our boys are dropping like flies.”

“Which is why we don’t let them find out,” Furiosa says calmly. 

“The Vuvalini,” Capable says suddenly.

“Bunch of old biddies aren’t like to scare off the entire wasteland,” the Dag mutters. Cheedo rests her head on the Dag’s shoulder. Furiosa remembers sitting like that long ago when she was in the Green Place with her first mother, listening to the stories the elders told.

“But they know things. Places,” Capable says. “They survived out there.”

Cheedo brightens. “We can ask them.”

“I’ll ask.” Whatever was in her tone, the other women don’t question her. They finish their meal, somewhat subdued, with only the baby’s occasional cries piercing the air.

*

“The green place dried up,” Battery Jane says brusquely. “Everything died, poisoned by the rot in the air and water and soil, and we were left hungry and dry.”

Furiosa nods; she knows this story already.

“But we still had to survive,” Battery Jane continues. She’s sharp-eyed and even sharper tongued, and Furiosa thinks she can see echoes of the mothers who raised her in the woman’s edges. “So we went into the waste, and after blistered skin and parched tongues, we found it.”

“It was the Valkyrie that found it,” Fibula of the Vuvalini says like confessing a great secret. The sky is fallout orange and purple and grey, and her words barely carry in the thick, murky air. “Just a pup, she was, but she went out ranging further than any of us, and came back ready to jump out of her skin. Food, she said, and light and water and life.” 

“So we went,” Battery Jane says. “And there it was.” 

“Bartertown,” Fibula breathes. “We saw glittering against the night sky.”

“Glittering,” Furiosa repeats disbelievingly. “Nothing _glitters_.”

“Tricity, it was,” says Fibula. Her back is still strong and her skin is leathery, protective as a gater’s hide. “I remember the stuff from back before. Somehow they figured out the secret, and that’s what you need, girl. A secret to barter with.”

“War rigs and bullets will only get you so far,” Battery Jane nods. “They all know you got water, and they know you’re hell to cross, but one stray blammer and you’re put out your misery. What you need is a reason they want to keep you alive.”

“I am not holding the Citadel through trickery,” Furiosa says firmly. She doesn’t need to. Everyone saw what had become of Immortan Joe. 

“Child,” Battery Jane smiles, all blackened teeth and the sweet comfort of family, “Swaddle dogs aren’t fools. But the rest of those bastards are, and you’re damn well going to take advantage of that.”

 

*

 

The water is too precious to trade regularly; it’s their survival. The food is too sparse, and Furiosa is too much a warrior to believe that a peaceful life is possible, not now, not here, so the war rigs must stay.

She could solve the problem with a single command, could send the mothers back to the milking room. Could start filling up the tanks, could have baskets of bullets and tankers of gasoline, just like Immortan Joe had.

She won’t do that. She won’t become a tyrant. There will be something there to keep the Citadel strong..

“Bartertown,” she says. If there’s something there, if there’s a way for them to survive… “We’ll find Bartertown.”

Furiosa has to go. The wasteland is unforgiving, and she’s going to make the Citadel thrive. Create her own green place, right on top of Immortan Joe’s bones. 

And the Vuvalini have the right of it. She won’t withhold the water, she won’t imprison women in the milking chairs, and the War Boys can’t keep dying, not if she can help it.

Fibula and Battery Jane are willing to go into the wasteland, to try to rediscover the glittering mythical town. Furiosa asks a few of the War Boys along, the bare minimum to keep the Rig safe and running. She won’t weaken the Citadel’s defences more than she has to.

Too many of the boys are lined up for a hit of fresh blood. Too many are looking lifeless, the feverish intensity fading from their eyes.

Furiosa has to do this. 

She leaves Toast and Capable in charge. They balance each other out.

 

*

Two days out into the wasteland, and one of the War Boys calls out a warning. There’s a car ahead, parked crookedly on the edge of a bluff.

It doesn’t move, even when they approach, and one of the boys puts it in the crosshairs. “Want me to give him a warning, Imperator?”

“No.” Furiosa keeps her eyes on the threat. The door swings open as they approach, and a lone figure climbs out and leans against the hood, facing them. 

It almost feels like fate when she recognizes the hunched shoulders. She eases the War Rig to a stop and climbs out.

“You,” she says, though his name echoes through her memory like a prayer. Max, Max. 

For a long moment it’s like she’s a ghost, like she’s a sandstorm illusion made flesh, and he doesn’t react, just drinks her in. Then he nods, like he’s deciding to accept that she’s really there.

He follows them further into the wasteland.

*

They stop before the sun reaches its zenith, and Max settles heavily beside her in the crow’s nest. She unbuckles her prosthetic arm and drops it at their feet. Max watches the horizon for her as she cleans the sand from the gears and joints.

“There’s a place out there,” Furiosa says finally, when she’s sure he’s not going to offer up anything about where he’s been or what he’s seen, “where things can be found. We’re headed there.”

“Bartertown.” 

The word came out of Max’s mouth like the creak of rusted hinges. His brow is furrowed like even he’s not sure where the word came from, and Furiosa wonders how much of his own past he remembers, and how much of it is like a fever dream, hazy and unreal.

“You’ve been there?” Furiosa wants to demand he tell her about the place, but knows it’s useless.

Max looks as though he’s trying to remember, but the thought is slipping away from him, like fog dissipating under the relentless sun. “Pig shit. That’s all I remember.”

“Helpful.” Furiosa leans her head back against the wall, and for the first time since she left the Citadel, feels some of the tension leave her shoulders.

“I’ll watch,” Max says. He bumps his shoulder lightly against hers. “Rest.”

There’s a long road ahead, and she trusts him enough that she lets her eyes close.

She doesn’t quite sleep, but the world goes soft and distant, even when Max starts to mutter about domes and death and metal wings flying. 

*

A day further into the desert, and there’s no longer any signs of life.

“Why didn’t you stay?” Furiosa asks, leaning against the side of the War Rig, relishing the shade it provides. The sun is burning-hot, enough to scorch any flesh left defenseless, and they’re waiting it out. When the sand’s too bright to look directly at, it’s too easy to become defenseless to the things that live under it.

“In Bartertown, you mean?” Fibula says. She’s knotting bits of leather together with bits of brightly colored tarp they found drifting slowly across the sand. “Not a nice place, that.”

“Too many men, for all that it’s ruled by a woman,” Battery Jane agrees. “Too much blood spilled, too big a price on living.”

“The Mothers, we didn’t have anything to barter,” Fibula explains. Her eyes never leave the bright strings of the colors of sky and blood and bullets. “Just ourselves, and that wouldn’t have gone far.”

“Aunty is a merciless woman,” Battery Jane agrees, “but sharp. Sharp as a fuckin’ whip, and that’s what you need.”

“You have things to barter,” Fibula nods. “Things worth more than a knife in the dark or a smile by lamplight.”

All Furiosa has is a tankful of clean water and the knowledge that a thousand lives are hers to save or condemn.

She’s managed worse with less. 

*

The Citadel is impossible to miss: sharp cliffs and Immortan Joe’s sigil carved into the very earth like a warning.

They nearly drive past Bartertown, never realizing it was there.

They were twelve nights further into the abyss and driving on through morning when Battery Jane taps her on the shoulder and says, “We going to Bartertown or the fucking wasteland?” and points.

There’s a narrow path through the hills; Furiosa almost missed it. She keeps an eye out for snipers and traps, but nothing ever happens.

This isn’t the Bullet Farm. This isn’t Gastown. Bartertown has its own set of rules, and it doesn’t protect itself from strangers.

It draws them in.

*

Bartertown isn’t what she expects.

The Vuvalini’s descriptions are of a crass, bustling place filled with every type of miscreant. Max’s muttered words paint a similar picture.

Furiosa isn’t prepared for the burnt-out shell of a town. The fires happened long ago, that much is evident from the weathered look of the charred outbuildings. An unsteady structure stands in the center of the town, something that once must have been an impressive outpost but all that remains is a crooked, broken skeleton.

The few people that remain outside point silently to an awning opening that leads underground, and Furiosa sees the cleverness in retreating beneath the ground. It’s the Citadel’s own strength, after all, everything tucked away safe from marauders and raiders.

“Guard the rig,” she tells the War Boys. There are enough of them to keep that safe, and if she can’t make it out of Bartertown on her own wits… Well, a handful of soldiers wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

She strides towards the entrance of the new Bartertown, knowing eyes are on her and reporting her presence. She doesn’t double-check her weapons; she already did that in the Rig. 

Beside her, Max has gone stiff and uncomfortable. He looks around like he’s seeing ghosts at every corner and lurking under every shattered crossbeam, and he mutters indistinctly, “Maybe i shouldn’t…”

Furiosa keeps her eyes on the dangers facing her ahead as she says, “Back me up?”

It shouldn’t matter what his answer is, except… it matters. 

There’s a long empty moment while Max seems to gather his thoughts. “Okay. I… Okay.”

Furiosa nods once, like she never doubted that would be his answer. Some things are too delicate to cast into uncertain light.

She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter one step as she steps through the cobbled-together gates marking the entrance of the new Bartertown. People stand staring at the sides of the path, and the further beneath the ground they go, the more densely populated the town becomes. Everywhere electric lights gleamed yellow light down on them, evidence that they’d come to the right place.

Then the crowds part and a figure appears in front of them. “Relinquish your weapons,” he says, gesturing towards a window where a burly woman sits counting bullets. “Aunty Entity’s rules.”

“Not a very trusting woman, is she?” Furiosa asks, reluctant to leave her guns behind, even though the Vuvalini had warned her of this.

“Well, Imperator, maybe your reputation proceeds you,” the emissary says.

News of the change of guard at the Citadel has spread throughout the wasteland like a cancer, but Furiosa still hadn’t quite anticipated being recognized immediately. 

The woman who ran this town already knew about the Citadel, which worked to Furiosa’s advantage. But it also cast a rather dim light on an aspect of taking control of the CItadel that she hadn’t given overly much thought to -- expanding her knowledge about the threats that existed out in the wasteland.

Immortan Joe had built an insulated society, where every cog was focused inwardly. Furiosa had held one of the few offices available that allowed her to leave the Citadel, and while it had, under Joe’s rule, kept the power in his hands…

Furiosa isn’t that sort of leader. She wants to build something that doesn’t rely on the broken backs and needless deaths of her people.

She left her guns resting on a counter in Bartertown, watched as Max and the Vuvalini relinquished their weapons as well, and kept her eyes open wide.

There’s more than one way to create power, and Furiosa is determined to take advantage of everything Bartertown has to offer.

*

As soon as they were deemed docile -- something Furiosa found somewhat laughable, since their reputations had already preceded them -- they were lead down to Aunty Entity.

Her chambers were lit with more electric lights that buzzed and hummed overhead, and the walls were lined with light colored cloth that hid possible entrances and exits from view. There were smudges on some of the panels -- soot and blood and dirt -- and some were hopelessly tattered, and it did nothing to minimize the glamour of the room.

It was gauzy and light and airy, for all that it was underground, and reminded Furiosa hopelessly of the women who had been wives, and who now were forging their own free lives. 

It steeled her resolve.

The room was empty when they entered, but before Furiosa could so much as look at her companions, one of the curtains was swept open and Aunty Entity entered.

She’s clad in glittering steel and smiles, but when she gets closer, she can see the tattered edges and rust decorating the armor like rosettes. Aunty is a woman who created power from the void, but has watched it slip through her fingers.

Aunty is a dangerous woman.

Furiosa greets her with a nod.

Aunty Entity circles her, taking graceful, swaying steps and never taking her eyes off the rough cluster that Furiosa and the Vuvalini stand in. Max is hovering uncertainly near the door; his presence is largely ignored.

“The Citadel,” Aunty Entity says, voice caressing each syllable like it’s a song. Furiosa doesn’t quite trust her. There’s never been room in her life for something as frivolous as music, and Aunty’s smile is as hungry as a War Boy’s. 

Battery Jane says, “You’ve heard of it, I reckon.”

“A thing or two,” Aunty Entity says like a concession. “But that’s neither here nor there. What are you bartering?”

The question could have been blunt, but instead it feels like a trap. Furiosa knows traps. She’s set more than a few herself. “What’s up for grabs?”

Aunty’s smile is shark-sharp. She circles them again, this time passing close enough to Furiosa that she reaches out and brushes her fingers across the brand on the back of Furiosa’s neck. “The thing you’ve crossed the goddamn desert to find, my darling Imperator. Whatever it is you seek, I have it.”

“Knowledge,” Furiosa says, seeing an opening. 

Aunty’s satisfaction is evident; Furiosa’s fist clenches as she imagines the shatter-crunch of Aunty’s nose, of her teeth, splintering and breaking in a bright wash of blood.

“You want to know about power.” Aunty crosses her arms and her armor glitters in the artificial light.

“I know power,” Furiosa says staunchly. She’s not giving an inch. Aunty would read it as a concession. “I want to know how to make electricity.”

She spoke to some of the oldest amongst her people before she left, the ones who remember the way the world worked before. The answers had been vague and infuriating. None had known exactly how the electricity came to be, just vague words about dams and nuclear power and burning fuels. 

But its uses… they had been infinite. 

“I hear you have water,” Aunty replied. “Fresh water that isn’t nuked to hell. Is that true?”

“It seems to me,” Battery Jane interrupts, gloriously unconcerned about the glare Aunty directed at her and the guards coming a half-step closer. “It seems to me that you’re not bartering properly. We have something you want. Make it worth it to us.”

Aunty’s eyes flick between their party, and Furiosa sees desperation for the first time. Bartertown had been bustling, it had seemed from their quick descent through the crowds, but Furiosa hadn’t seen many strong backs, not anything that would warrant the level of security Aunty Entity surrounded herself with.

She was scared.

Furiosa knows how to work against scared.

“I’m thirsty,” she announces. She looks back at Max, meets his eyes directly. “A drink?”

Max hesitates slightly before ducking out of the room. The floors are hard-packed dirt so there are no footsteps once he disappears into the eerily steady light in the hallway. There are no torches in these depths of Bartertown, only bright pinpoints of unwavering light.

There’s proof of Aunty Entity’s knowledge everywhere. Furiosa has to prove that she’s in possession of an equally important treasure.

Furiosa doesn’t speak while waiting on Max to return with water. Aunty Entity snaps her fingers and a man begins to play music, and the sound is too loud, too overwhelming for Furiosa’s tastes. All it serves to do is hide the sound of approaching threats.

Max returns with a battered metal jug. 

One of Aunty’s bodyguards step forward and set two cups made of fine clear glass on the table. There’s not a chip or scratch anywhere on them, and when Max pours water into them, they remain pristine and clear.

Aunty’s attention seems split between the evidence of clean water and the man pouring it. “You have familiar eyes,” she says as Max straightens up, though there’s not even a flicker of recognition from him.

He shrugs and steps back, holding the water jug loosely in one hand. Furiosa has seen him fight and knows how easily it could become a weapon, and judging from the way Aunty’s guard begin to close ranks around her, they’ve seen evidence of that, too.

“You can test it, if you want,” Furiosa offers as a distraction as she lifts a glass to her lips. The water is cool and refreshing, and she knows Aunty won’t find any trace of fallout.

A youth steps forward and runs a geiger over the cup, and it stays blissfully silent. Aunty’s attention is still on Max, but she reaches out and takes the glass.

“Pure H2O,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s been a while.”

Furiosa doesn’t know all the undercurrents happening, and she’d wager that Max is equally uncertain, but the important thing is the way Aunty’s eyes flutter closed when she tastes the water.

She’s got her.

“And it’ll be a long stretch before you get more,” Furiosa tells her. “Unless…”

“Unless I’m willing to barter away bits of my soul.” Aunty looks at the glass in her hand before taking another drink. “I know how the game is played, dearie. I’ve been playing it longer than you.”

Furiosa reaches out with her metal arm and grasps the delicate glass. “I’m not interested in games. I’m interested in survival.”

“Any means, and all that,” Aunty says. Her eyes flick briefly back to Max. “Makes a certain kind of sense. I’ll tell you what you want to know, child, if you tell me the same.”

“I want you to send an expert,” Furiosa says. “Back to the Citadel with us, to show my people how it’s done.”

“And in exchange…” Aunty leaves her sentence hanging, seeing what Furiosa is willing to offer.

“In exchange, you get water that won’t give you tumors and hallucinations,” Batter Jane interrupts. “You know it’s a good deal, Entity.”

“It is,” she says. “I’m always happy to make a new friend. I’m sure that there are other.. things.. that we could discuss in the future.”

“Perhaps,” Furiosa says. It’s dangerous ground, offering to ally herself with someone whose motives are opaque as Aunty Entity’s, but for right now… Right now, it’s going to keep the Citadel strong and her people alive.

She’s willing to take the chance.

*

Furiosa knows she’s going to come back before she even prepares to leave.

She catches Aunty staring at Max as they’re preparing to go, and when she turns to her, Aunty looks unrepentant. 

“Keep my little kingbreaker safe,” she says. “I’m not through with him.”

“This land isn’t made for kings.” Furiosa knows this much. “No guarantees in the wasteland.”

Aunty laughs. “True enough, child. And women like you and me, we were never made to bend a knee. I built all this, you know. Wanted a place for people to be safe.” She looks at the people who are still gathered, the remains of humanity, and continues, “You never quite get what you set out to do. Be sure to keep people around you who aren’t afraid of you, Imperator. An honest word is worth its weight out here.”

Furiosa doesn’t have an answer; she just straps her guns back on.

Max is staring at the charred ruins of the old Bartertown like it holds the secrets of the universe, and Furiosa hopes that something speaks to him. She wonders if he wants to know his own past; if she should ask Aunty for the secrets she clearly knows about him

She doesn’t; the price would be too dear.

The electrician is boarding the war rig, and the boys are loading a large spool of wire into the cargo hold. The water has been drained into a cistern, leaving only just enough for them to make the journey back to the Citadel. 

There’s too much to do, and too little. The War Boys will have to get better on their own, but Furiosa is giving them more of a chance than Joe ever did.

The Vuvalini have already boarded the War Rig, ready to leave Bartertown behind, but Furiosa knows the way now. 

She knows what to do.


End file.
